


Postscript

by cadenzamuse



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Gen, Juvenilia, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-06
Updated: 2005-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadenzamuse/pseuds/cadenzamuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jess stays. And lives happily ever after. One-shot, sort-of.  (Re-post of very old fic from fanfiction.net.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postscript

**Author's Note:**

> **Author:** Umm, duh. Cadenza at Midnight.  
>  **Rating:** In my book, any use of the so-called "f-word" is R-rated. And this is language-heavy. But I freely admit I'm a little weird, so consider it strong PG-13 to R. You have been warned.  
>  **Disclaimer:** God, sometimes I wish it were mine. But I'm just pretending.  
>  **Author's Note:** Beta-read by Airin and Robin. I still can't sing their praises enough. It's meant to be a one-shot, but I can't guarantee it won't ever be continued, especially since Ali asked for more, Ali is god (sort-of), and if she wants more of something I wrote, hell if I'm going to say no.
> 
> This one's for Elise and the Lit girls at who planted the seed in my brain and who make my bad days better. Y'all rock like whoa.

He came back, almost as an afterthought. He still hated the damn idiotic town, but there was something to be said for people who believed in you, no matter how many times you fucked up. Okay, so there was only one person, but...hell, even just Luke believing in him made him walk taller for some reason.

He wasn't stupid enough to come waltzing back in asking Luke to let him stay. Maybe someday. First he had to prove he'd be different. Even if Luke had seen him grow, he knew Luke wouldn't trust it--wasn't supposed to. He needed to be trustworthy without asking, without motives. He couldn't do that unless he made a life of his own, without running crying back to Luke. And if he could hold down an apartment in New York, he could do it in Stars Hollow.

He signed a lease in one of Taylor's buildings as one Mr. Dean Moriarty. So it was totally illegal; so what? Stars Hollow didn't do laws like normal people. He meant to stay this time. And Taylor didn't know his handwriting.

He got a job delivering pizzas (again, dammit, was the delivery boy profession ever going to stop haunting him?) to anywhere that wasn't Stars Hollow. He dressed cleanly, functionally (he looked like shit, but all that mattered was that nobody recognized him--hence, also, the haircut and sunglasses). And then, when he had been doing the existing thing for a while, dreaming idle dreams of he didn't know what, when he figured he had proved he was as adjusted as he was going to get, _then_ he showed up at Luke's.

(Luke yelled at him, of course, but he wasn't going to explain himself this time. Let someone else tell Luke--tell Taylor--about the new, improved, responsible Jess. Batteries not included.)

He started showing up at the diner after work twice, three times a week. The first time, Luke fed him. The second time, he snagged a sandwich, stuffed a rag in his back pocket, and started bussing tables. (Luke wanted to know what the hell Jess thought he was doing. Luke could kiss Jess's ass; Jess was bussing tables, what did it look like, a Mafia cover-up? ...Eventually, Luke quit complaining.)

When Taylor found out about the lease, he threatened to kick Jess out. But Jess wasn't having any of it; he'd been a model tenant, and if Taylor had to see he'd changed, he wouldn't have to look very hard. Jess signed a new lease in his own name. Taylor was crabby as hell. Damn idiotic town.

He had a vague idea in his head of where he was headed, what he wanted to do with his life. It involved something ridiculously warm and fuzzy--wiping down tables in a Boonesville diner of his own. A girl with walnut hair to laugh with him. Two kids, who held his hand and demanded walks around a damn fairytale town, a three-year-old daughter who fought through "James James Morrison Morrison" with impressive concentration, kicking her small shoe over the edge of a plank bridge.

He sounded like a fucking girl.

But, spending his days roaming, reading at stoplights, spending his nights sniping at Luke, wandering in the cool dark and small town-lights, he was happy.

The girl would come someday. For now, he lived happily-ever-after.


End file.
